


Steven Hyde Meets the Devil

by TheWalkingDebt



Category: That '70s Show
Genre: Angst, Demons, Drunkenness, F/M, Jackie is only mentioned in this, Las Vegas, Not really though, Post Season 7, Sad, Supernatural Elements, kind of fix-it?, more like an actual explaination, the only way season 8 makes any sense tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2019-08-04 00:26:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16336256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWalkingDebt/pseuds/TheWalkingDebt
Summary: Hyde makes a bad deal.





	Steven Hyde Meets the Devil

 

His finger slid along the wet lip of his crystal glass, the amber liquid glistening inside. He watched as the drink settled into the ice chips, watched as the seemingly diamond-hard objects melted into the unceasing, ever-present comparative warmth of the liquor.   
  
If he were less, or maybe more, drunk, he'd be spinning metaphors about that. As it was, his brain was too clouded by misery and pain, and he couldn't think of anything except scared doe-eyes and _ "No one can see us doing it!" _ spoken by a particularly bad-timed idiot in a towel. His spine shivered and twitched at the memory of it, in fact.   
  
"Girl trouble?" he looked up dully to see one of the strippers leaning down to him. She had large breasts that didn't match her slim body, too perfect to be real, and her bottle blonde hair trailed down her tanned shoulders with surreal detail. The curls were too even, too well-made, too... yellow. He supposed she was beautiful, but all he could think of was his doll-like girlfriend. ...But she wasn't his anymore ( _ had she ever really been? _   a traitorous voice in his head whispered, sounding distinctly like Edna’s slithering disdain.)   
  
"Guess you could say that," his voice was hoarse from lack of speaking. He had, hours ago, learned all he needed to refill his glass was to push it forward. A grunt at most gained the barkeep's attention. He couldn't count the number of times his glass had been emptied. Maybe that was a sign to stop. He raised the glass to his lips once more.   
  
The stripper sat beside him, rubbing one of his shoulders in a tight grip. Almost too firm, like she was holding him down. Not that it would take much to do that, in his inebriated state. "Can I help with that?" her voice purred sweetly. Too sweet. Like cotton candy in a Twinkie, or worse, one of Forman's cheap Twonkies.   
  
"Doubt it," he mumbled back, draining his glass once more. He twirled the glass up to the edge of the bar, slapping the bottom harshly against the sticky wood. The bartender filled him up in moments. "She was kind of the only girl I ever cared about."   
  
'In vino veritas' had never been a truer statement than in his case. Whatever was driving him to drink usually controlled his tongue as well, spilling the thoughts as easily as throwing back the throat-burning liquid.   
  
"Oh, now a handsome guy like yourself couldn't possibly have a problem replacing her," the blonde stripper cooed, tracing a tickling circle on his neck. Hyde jerked away, wincing at the too-familiar touch. 'I have a girlfriend' rose to his lips, but he bit them back. Because he didn't. Not anymore. He had been replaced, easily and quickly, by the same man he had once taken her from.   
  
Karma was a massive bitch, and Steven Hyde had a feeling he must have killed puppies in a previous life to earn this one.   
  
"I can help you forget," she promised wickedly, and had Hyde been looking at her, he might've noticed a two-second change to her eyes. Something anyone not drowning in liquor would see. Unfortunately, no one there was quite so sober, aside from the employees. And they often looked the other way for their fellow co-workers, no matter how odd they seemed.   
  
This was Vegas after all - you had to be pretty strange to stick out.   
  
Hyde shook his head, the cool glass now pressed to his forehead, "I don't wanna forget, I want... I just want  _ her _ ." But he couldn't, he thought bitterly. If he even ever had her in the first place... he should've known he was just a poor replacement for Kelso. He had known it for the first few months of their... tryst. Hell, he had started it knowing that for a fact.   
  
Then the nurse and Fez's unbelievable dream happened and she had denied it all. He had been too hung up on her, too... too lustful of her presence and her mind and her body to deny himself for long. He needed her in a way she had never needed him. Surely. Because the second he was out of the picture, she dragged that, that kettlehead back in. So easily...   
  
"Now, that doesn't sound like a very kind thing to do to such a sweetheart like you," the stripper pouted with thickly painted lips.   
  
...Had he said that all aloud? He couldn't remember. Could barely think. He frowned to himself, eyes shut against the gaudy lights of the club. His head was swimming, and his body felt loose and empty.   
  
"Let me take care of you, baby," she lifted the cup from his hand and set it aside, straddling his lap. He blinked into her gaze and for a moment, he swore her eyes flashed black. But it must've been a trick of the lights, because soon they were right back to pale green.   
  
They were nothing like Jackie's lively mismatched eyes, dappled like the forest and ocean, all sunny and warm...   
  
"Stop thinking about her," the woman on his lap commanded softly, running a sharp fingernail along his chin and lips. He stared up at her, a mixture of nausea and confusion filling him even as he did as she said. "I'm here now. Make any wish you want, and I can help make it true."   
  
She looked mischievous, her smile borderline cruel. He barely noticed. He only had one wish.   
  
"I wish I didn't love Jackie so fucking much," his voice broke clean in half, words trembling wetly as he denied tears to enter his eyes. They exited in his tone instead, turning his words to soggy, sappy uselessness. "I wish I hated her."   
  
He didn't. He wished she loved him as much as he did her, that she loved him as he was without trying to turn him into something he wasn't. Something he hated. But that was never going to happen, just like how he would never...   
  
"Done," the stripper grinned, and he smelled burnt eggs and volcanic ash as she leaned down to capture his lips in hers. She tasted bitter, like strong licorice and sour grapes, and for a second, her grip on his shoulders felt like claws digging into his flesh.   
  
His chest ached, something inside of him felt ripped apart, but when she leaned back it all faded away. His body felt cold, but he didn't care. The liquor would warm him right up, and this body in his lap would only aid the process.   
  
He forgot all about Jackie, and he grinned up at the gorgeous, slutty blonde riding his thighs.   
  
"What say you and me make some memories here, sweetheart?"   
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This is literally the only way I can figure out how the hellfire garbage dump that is season 8 happened. Demons.


End file.
